Widow’s Black

Widow’s black blows through this glen.
It’s a shadow cast
by unbearable loss of fractured hearts.
It’s a brittle wind
that pierces an icy fevered breeze,
and straddles those weak of joy.
Widow’s black teases reason
into willowy tangles, and rustles
and tugs at skirts.
It dries tears to sheaths of crusty gems
that glint in morning’s
taught-strung light. Widow’s black sings sweet
calliope songs
that explode in soft sheaths of dark
bewilderment, and no charms or enthralled
beguilements, nor slip-stitchery mending
can restore true love lost
and protect a woman from the colour black.
.
.
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Oh, this reminds me of two things. The first of Queen Elizabeth, who after her beloved passed, wore black for the rest of her life. And also of those European elders, whose husband departed first and they too wore black allowing no color to shade their emotions.

We allow our imagination free reign with the wordles and so they go!
Thanks for your visit.:)